


Thus With A Kiss

by sprawlingdivide



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3169166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprawlingdivide/pseuds/sprawlingdivide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully finds out about Mulder's death sentence in the series finale "The Truth".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thus With A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr post (that has since been deleted) that asked what would happen if Scully committed suicide in the series finale. I threw in some Romeo/Juliet angst.

“Death by lethal injection.”

Doggett uttered the words with the kindest, gentlest tone he could manage. As the words left his lips, he realized that no tone, no matter how sympathetic, could change their meaning. He turned from Scully and clenched his left fist as she lifted her hands to cover her face in anguish. It took all he had not to run to her and shake her by the shoulders screaming, “We’ll get him out! He’s going to escape!”

But he knew that he couldn’t. He hated having to keep secrets from Scully, who had trusted him with her life on more than one occasion. But he had made an agreement. Scully couldn’t be made aware of the plan, not until they had already successfully retrieved Mulder. It was safe this way. It was not fair, but it was safe. 

Doggett turned once more to face Scully, who remained in the same position on the sofa. Her hair fell around her face as she heaved into her hands. Doggett longed to reach out and comfort Scully, but he felt that she was too distraught to find comfort in unfamiliar physical contact. His gaze lifted over the top of Scully’s head to meet Reyes’ from where she sat at Scully’s kitchen table. Reyes bit her bottom lip and shook her head lightly. She pressed her palms against the table and rose slowly, beckoning Doggett and Gibson to follow her to the door. The trio left Scully’s apartment silently, leaving Scully to grieve in privacy.

Scully remained in the same place on the couch until her sobs subsided and she was able to regain her composure. She pushed the hair away from her swollen eyes and shuddered, realizing her surroundings for the first time since she had heard the news from Doggett. How long had she been alone in her apartment? It didn’t matter, she decided, planting her feet firmly on the rug beneath her. Nothing mattered now, only Mulder. Mulder’s kind smile. Mulder’s quest for the truth.

Mulder’s death. 

How could she lose Mulder again? It had only been a year since the first time that Scully though that he was gone forever. He had come back to life then. But he wouldn’t this time. Not if the government had a say in the matter. This was permanent. Mulder would be gone forever. Her friend, her partner, her constant- gone. 

It did not seem fitting for Mulder to die by lethal injection. A cold, clinical death under fluorescent lights did not reflect the way Mulder had lived. How many times had they kissed death and lived to write the case report? If Mulder was to die, he should have been shot while scaling a fence at Area 51 or been burned alive in a boxcar full of alien corpses. Scully imagined him sitting placidly on a gurney awaiting his execution, then shook her head. Mulder should not die this way. Mulder should not die. Not without Scully.

What reason had she to live if Mulder was gone? The first time he died, she was carrying William. She had a piece of Mulder with her then, inside her. But William was gone now, too. If Mulder died, then part of Scully would die with him. This part of Scully would be too large to live without. With Mulder died Scully’s hope. Human life without hope was meaningless, Scully decided. She finally stood, and took several deliberate steps toward the locked cabinet where she kept her gun. She lifted one shaking hand and pressed her palm tentatively against the cool cabinet. She pictured her sister Melissa’s smile as she unlocked the cabinet and reached for her gun. She thought of Clyde Bruckman as she loaded the gun and locked the cabinet one final time. He had only made one prediction that would become untrue. 

Scully’s steps to her bedroom were heavy, as if there were bricks tied to her small feet. She sat on her bed and held the gun in front of her, turning it over in her hands and tracing the “P228” on the side of the handle with her index finger. She thought of her father now. She imagined his voice saying, “Good night, Starbuck.”

“Good sailing, Ahab,” she whispered with trembling lips, and lifted the gun and pressed it to her temple.


End file.
